Gone
by Tara Laurel
Summary: "The king's voice broke though the haze, ringing loud & clear against Merlin's slowly slipping mind. It was the last thing he heard before he finally unwillingly gave into the darkness." Hurt by the actions of the man Merlin considers his best friend, Merlin puts himself in mortal danger. Guilt-ridden, Arthur does all he can to save his loyal servant before it's too late.
1. Forgotten

**TITLE:** Gone

**CHAPTER/TITLE:** Chapter One/Forgotten

**RATING:** T (language and mature content)

**A/N: **My first venture into the Merlin fandom. I'm excited. Are you excited? I'm excited. I have a lot of Merlin ideas and just have yet to post them. I was late to jump on the Merlin wagon and then, because season 5 wasn't available at the library, it wasn't until last night that I FINALLY finished season 5. I already knew just about everything that was going to happen and had scene parts/clips/etc but never in full. I had some Merlin ideas but wanted to wait until I saw the whole series after coming to the game so late. I have had a lot of other ideas before this one, but this is the one that just came out on paper easier so far. The others are still works in progress. Maybe this one is too, depending on what you guys think! Yikes. I hope you like it.

Takes place after the Dolma (Merlin) cures Gwen. Merlin is a little OOC. Sorry. When Arthur forgot about Merlin, yes, it was joke. But it made me very sad and upset. Maybe I'm just crazy. There's some Merlin whump in here fyi because we all know we love to see our favorite characters hurt for some slightly scary reason.

Enjoy.

Read. Review. Repeat.

**Chapter One: Forgotten**

Merlin, or Dolma, at the moment, stood solemnly on the shore. His - er, well, her, arms were bent, hands flattened against aged hips. Anger flooded him, taking the place of sorrow. The warlock in disguise was about to call out to the trio and remind them of their forgotten friend, maybe even lecture the king a little for good measure as he sometimes did under the guise of Dragoon. Instead, Merlin simply snapped his jaw shut. As quickly as the ire had overcome him, it was drown out by dejection and desolation.

Time and time again, the servant had risked life and limb, self-exposure – everything – for his master. Day after day, Merlin died to himself for Arthur. This was yet another one of those days. A moment in a never-ending list of moments, Merlin had long since lost track of.

In the past few hours alone, Merlin had nearly fallen to his death, saved them from a dragon, undergone transformation into a_ woman _of all things and restored Guinevere, inadvertently sparing Arthur from any future assassination attempts from his own wife. Granted the king knew not of most of these achievements, Arthur knew of some, not to mention the fact that Merlin had told him of the Dolma and led them straight to her.

And did he receive thanks? Gratitude of any kind?

No.

_He didn't even remember him_.

For all Arthur and Mordred knew, Merlin was currently being held captive by a powerful sorceress to ensure her safety in their presence. Shouldn't that have sparked some semblance of concern? Wasn't he worth his friend's worry? Wasn't he worth being remembered?

It was then that Merlin recalled that it was Mordred, not Arthur, who had noticed the young man's missing presence earlier when Merlin had first appeared as the Dolma. Had Arthur forgotten him then too? Of course, one he realized his servant was missing, the king had been ready to strike the sorceress down. But still – Merlin couldn't help the black pit that was swiftly swallowing his spirit.

He watched in silence as his friends walked off, their backs to him. Arthur was still reveling in the return of his wife, their faces a horsehair's width apart as they strode forward, eyes never leaving the others'. Merlin couldn't blame him for wanting to bask in his nearly lost love's presence. He couldn't be mad at him for being distracted. He couldn't even punish him in the slightest for putting Gwen's wellbeing and interest before his. She was his wife. She must come before all others in Arthur's eyes.

Above a friend.

Especially above a lowly servant, who wasn't even worth remembering.

But Merlin could punish him for forgetting him, for abandoning him. Arthur couldn't put Merlin first, but Merlin _always _put Arthur first. The only people that could ever possibly come before Arthur in Merlin's mind were his mother, Gaius and, if she were still living, Freya. Even then, Merlin would never simply cast his master aside from his mind.

Of course, somewhere inside himself, Merlin knew he was being a petulant child. He was acting very foolish, and quite selfishly. But after everything he had endured for the king's sake, shouldn't he deserve to be a little of all of those things just this once?

Did Arthur even care what happened to Merlin?

_Of course he does!_

A voice screamed inside Merlin's head, flashing him back to all those times Arthur too had risked his own life for his friend.

But those memories were of the past. This new wound was still open and fresh, pulsating through every fiber of Merlin's very being.

He had been forgotten.

Just as easily as Arthur often forgot where he put his robes or comb.

Was that all Merlin was to Arthur? An object? A tool? To be used only when needed, like to lead him to the Dolma, but then immediately thrown to the way side?

_No! Arthur has proven his friendship to you! _

The ache in his chest and fiery anger in his stomach promptly ignored Merlin's common sense once again.

"Wait," a familiar voice sounded from a short distance away, "what about Merlin?"

Even as a small speck of joy flashed inside of it, his heart dropped. It was Mordred asking this question. Not Arthur. Not his friend.

"Merlin?" He heard Gwen's voice, sounding anxious and confused. "Was he with you?"

Arthur didn't answer, but upon hearing the king's sword slip from its sheath, Merlin knew what was coming next. Three sets of footfalls pounded towards him.

With only a moment's hesitation, Merlin sprinted in the opposite direction, down the side of the water and secreted himself away behind a particularly large stone. Seizing a vial from the pockets of his pants that remained hidden underneath the dress, Merlin swallowed the discolored liquid. The wizard watched his hands turn from those of a shriveled, aged woman to his own.

It would be so simple to step out from his place of concealment and reveal himself to his friends. He would trade some sort of verbal sparring with Arthur, a look of concern from Gwen, and one of suspicion from Mordred, before joining them on their return to Camelot.

Why was he being so silly? So stubborn?

_Go to them! You idiot!_

Still, he remained, perched delicately on his haunches, ducking unnecessarily behind the rock that easily surpassed his standing height. He listened as the three called his name, Arthur also demanding for the Dolma to return and "show herself".

Merlin knew this was cruel, forcing them to worry over him like this, especially Guinevere. She had done him no wrong.

"We did what you asked of us," Arthur shouted to the skies. "No harm came to you! Return our friend to us now!" If Merlin wasn't mistaken, that authoritative and dangerous tone had just a trace of panic laced underneath it. "Give us back Merlin! We will find you!"

What was Merlin doing? He had tried to convince Arthur some sorcerers could be good through the Dolma. Now he was shedding her in this wicked light? He had truly acted on childish impulse indeed! Even as Merlin had earlier thought of disappearing for a few days to make the king truly worry and pay, Merlin knew this cruelty had to come to an end. As hurt and angered as he had been, the good in him was quickly overcoming those feelings. Now all he had room in his heart for was guilt and shame.

As Merlin made to stand, though, something else washed over him entirely.

Pain.

He was barely standing, his voice halfway through calling out to Arthur, when it happened. He felt it strike his leg like fire and ice piercing his skin and burning through his entire body.

Using the stone to keep himself from toppling over, Merlin whirled around just in time to see an oversized man with a crossbow coming straight towards him, along with another arrow. The warlock lifted his hand to stop it, but was too late. The arrow eagerly imbedded itself into Merlin's side.

He could faintly hear his friends calling out his name and shouting varying words of protest. He wasn't sure if they were truly distant, or if it was the fact that he felt himself slipping into unconsciousness that made them feel far away. He turned and squinted, Arthur and Mordred were sprinting towards him from nearly the other side of the water, Gwen following quickly behind, panic in her voice and eyes. Merlin's own gaze twitched and tilted slightly before settling on the two men. Mordred's face was battling some internal conflict; Arthur's teetering between fear and ferocity.

"Merlin!"

This time, the king's voice broke though the haze, ringing loud and clear against Merlin's slowly slipping away mind.

It was the last thing he heard before he finally unwillingly gave into the darkness.


	2. A Vow

**TITLE:** Gone

**CHAPTER/TITLE:** Chapter Two/A Vow

**RATING:** T (language and mature content)

**A/N: **Wow. Wow. Wow. Just..wow. THANK YOU, ALL OF YOU, for the follows, favorites and reviews! I tried to reply to almost everyone personally, but my internet access is VERY limited. I sincerely apologize to those of you that I didn't say thank you to. You are all awesome. I usually get a couple emails regarding my fanfics. I checked my email over the weekend, and had over 100! I just about died right there. I wanted to laugh and cry and fall over all at once. (I guess that's no different than how you feel when watching Merlin though...) Under pressure now! I really hope this story lives up to everyone's expectations. *Gulp*. To think, this was originally going to be a short and sweet one shot all tied together with a happy ending. Guess not. Maybe you'll still get the happy ending. We'll see...this is Merlin after all. I believe BBC's sole purpose and delight is to watch us grow to love all their characters, and then laugh evilly while we watch them all suffer over and over again and then finally be forced to witness their deaths.

I had a lot of ideas of where this story could go. Originally, Merlin doesn't hide behind the stone, he leaves. Once Arthur and the others realize he is gone, it's too late as something terrible has happened yatta yatta yatta. I know Merlin was a bit OOC in the first chapter, but I thought that was WAY too much OOC for Merlin. He wouldn't abandon Arthur, even just to let off some steam before going back. Plus, then Arthur would have suspected the Dolma was at fault and I didn't want to have magic blamed. So, here is the result. Hope you like it.

Enjoy.

Read. Review. Repeat.

**Chapter Two: A Vow**

_"Merlin!"_

_ This time, the king's voice broke though the haze, ringing loud and clear against Merlin's slowly slipping away mind. _

_It was the last thing he heard before he finally unwillingly gave into the darkness._

Arthur's vision was swimming, drowning in crimson. Charging blindly forward, all he could see was scarlet as the red rage clouded his sight. The king blinked it away, only in time to see the second arrow pierce Merlin's side. He watched as his servant's eyes seemed to wander until they finally locked with his own. Arthur screamed out for his falling friend before Merlin crumpled over, face forward to kiss the ground.

The king made a shout of protest, something almost feral crawling up from inside of his throat. Mordred was yelling something beside him, but the red that had fogged his sight was now also hindering his hearing. He faintly heard Gwen behind him, she was shrieking something that sounded similar to "Merlin", but Arthur couldn't quite be sure. All his focus, all his senses, had snapped to, and latched onto only one thing.

_Fight_.

_Kill_.

_Save_ _Merlin_.

It was all wrapped up together in one singular, fluid thought, ripping through Arthur's conscious and pushing his body forward.

A third arrow made its escape from their attacker's crossbow, this one aimed straight for the king. Arthur easily blocked it with a swing of his sword. A fourth arrow sprung free, soaring towards Mordred, who copied the king.

The archer drew closer to Merlin's unconscious and limp form. Arthur made to throw his dagger at the man when another arrow, coming from a different direction entirely, nearly pierced his hand. He drew his arm back and whirled around just in time to see three more men descending upon them.

"Mordred!" Arthur shouted to warn his knight of the oncoming attack.

"Arthur!"

The king turned his head at the alarm in his companion's voice. Coming at them from the opposite side were six weapon wielding men.

They were surrounded on three sides, the water caging them on the fourth.

Arthur hurriedly placed Guinevere between himself and Mordred, handing his wife his knife.

"Mordred," Arthur's voice was firm, despite the fear threatening to overtake it, "whatever happens, get Gwen out of here and to safety. Take her back to Camelot. No matter what. Get Merlin if you can. Bring them home."

Gwen opened her mouth to argue as their attackers closed in. A volley or arrows were sent straight for all three of them. Arthur hardly had time to shield Gwen and raise his sword when the arrow meant for his chest, miraculously missed. As did all the others. The three remained uninjured by the surprise attack. Arthur cocked his head to the side to check his friends, noting with some surprise that Mordred was wearing what looked like a smirk. He seemed to be smiling at some secret joke.

Arthur didn't have time to think on it any further as the men were upon them. Metal rang out against metal as swords clashed, singing out in disharmony. The two men did their best to keep the queen between their backs as they fought their attackers.

"Mordred!" Arthur called out as he cut down his second opponent. "Take Guinevere! Go!"

"Arthur, no!" Gwen cried as her husband pushed her towards the knight.

"My lord, I cannot leave you," Mordred protested as he blocked what would have been a fatal blow.

"I am your king and I order you to do so," Arthur commanded. "Guinevere, go with Mordred."

"You will come back to me," Gwen's voice was more of a demand than a question.

"I will come back to you," Arthur vowed, looking longingly and reassuringly at his wife for a brief moment between blows. "I love you, Guinevere."

"I love you, Arthur."

"Go! Now! I will hold them." Arthur looked sharply at Mordred. "Protect her with your life."

"I will." Mordred nodded and grabbed the queen.

The pair hurried off in the direction they had come from, the knight cutting at those who tried to stop them like overgrown weeds. Guinevere didn't hesitate as one of the men rounded on her. She plunged Arthur's blade deep within the assailant's chest and rejoined Mordred in their retreat.

Arthur watched with a pained, yet joyful, expression as his wife fled. She would be safe. If nothing else, the woman he loved would live. He yearned to go with her, but he could not leave Merlin. He didn't even know if his friend was alive anymore, but he had to try.

The mere thought of Merlin being gone sent another crimson craze washing over him. His wrath pulsed out of him and into his sword as it sliced mercilessly at his opponents. His rage was making this much easier. Almost too easy. His enemies were falling all around him, and soon, none were left.

Arthur stood among the dead, stealing a moment to catch his breath. His eyes roamed his surroundings. They were far fewer bodies on the ground than he remembered having attacked them. In his anger, he hadn't noticed the decrease in numbers. Had the rest retreated? He had watched out of the corner of his eye as he fought and saw Mordred and Guinevere escape into the trees, pursued by no one.

In a flash of realization, Arthur whipped his head around, gaze tearing across the ground in search of his fallen friend. His eyes fell heavily on the spot where Merlin had been laying only minutes earlier.

It was empty.

All that remained were satin stains against stone.

_Blood._

_ Merlin's blood._

_Merlin._

_ They have Merlin._

_ They _took _Merlin._

_ Where did they go?_

_ Who are they? _

_ They're dead. _

_ They're all dead._

The thoughts and questions swam though his pounding head, scratching and clawing at his brain and heart. All followed by a vow.

He would kill them. He would kill all of them.

He was going to find Merlin. He had to. And when he did, every single person who had touched his friend, who had dared to attack him and his wife, who had thought for a moment they could toy with him, could even _think _about harming Merlin – would be dead by his hand.


	3. Priceless

**TITLE: **Gone

**CHAPTER/TITLE: **Chapter Three/Priceless

**RATING: **T (language and mature content)

**A/N: **Yet again, THANK YOU. All of you. I sincerely and thoroughly appreciate each and every follow, favorite and review! You guys are fantastic!

**DISCLAIMER: **I don't own Merlin.

**Chapter Three: Priceless**

"Merlin!"

The young sorcerer awoke with a staggering start at the voice. It had cut through the darkness and agony that had seemed to be all he had known for ages. He was unaware of exactly for how much time he had been lost in that awful place, but it no longer mattered.

Arthur was calling for him.

Arthur was there.

If Arthur was there, Merlin knew he was safe. He knew everything would be alright.

He tried to cry out in reply, but promptly found himself gagged with a piece of cloth that tasted of sweat, mud and iron. No, not iron.

Blood.

His blood.

Blinking back the still lingering shards of darkness and disorientation, the servant glanced around frantically and hopefully for his master.

What he saw instead made whatever blood that was left in his broken body turn cold.

The scenery in front of him was moving, slowly growing farther and farther away, as if he was moving backwards. Not only that, but in front of the distancing backdrop, marched men Merlin wished he did not recognize. They were members of the party that had attacked Merlin at the Cauldron.

Arthur wasn't among them.

He wasn't sneaking up behind them.

There wasn't even sign of him lurking in the passing trees.

Arthur wasn't there at all.

The cry that awoke Merlin was merely a memory, an echo of the last thing the young man had heard before he had plummeted into that black and pain filled world.

Lolling his head to either side, Merlin could see that he was lying in some sort of uncovered wagon. Surrounding him were weapons and supplies. The weapons would have been appealing had he not had several pairs of eyes walking not a foot behind the cart. Not to mention the fact that Merlin severely doubted wielding a weapon of any sort would do him much good in his current state, if he could even manage to wield one at all.

He knew that the only thing keeping him alive was the magic that he could currently feel pulsing through each fiber of his being. Every last drop of his power was focused on his fatal wounds. This gave him nothing left to help him escape. He couldn't merely will one of his capture's swords to start slicing down the others. He couldn't utter the simplest of spells through his gag, and even if he could there was little hope that it would actually work. He couldn't even call for Kilgharrah.

He was powerless.

He was alone.

And most of all – Merlin was scared.

He was powerless.

He was alone.

And most of all – Arthur was scared.

The young king was not entirely sure as to how long he had been running, or how long there had been that pang in his side. It didn't matter. It was nothing compared to the ache in his gut, and his heart. His legs were also growing weary from his nonstop pursuit and having spent most of the journey to the Cauldron carrying his sleeping wife. And then there was his arm. It was still quite sore from being pinned underneath a stone. But, again, none of those things mattered.

All his focus, all his energy, was filtered into one thing and one thing only.

Find Merlin.

He had watched his servant take two, probably fatal, arrows to his body. He wasn't even sure if his friend was still alive. And even if he was, what horrors was he facing? Merlin wasn't much of a fighter when in peak condition, and he certainly was far from fighting fit in his current state. Chances were, if he was still living, he was dying.

The thought spurred the young king on at an even quicker pace. He wouldn't believe Merlin was dead. He couldn't. The fool servant never allowed his master to abandon hope, and he wasn't going to do so now when it was Merlin's life at stake.

And yet, that wasn't entirely what made Arthur's legs continue on.

There was something more that pushed Arthur forward, that ate away at him if he slowed even for a moment.

Guilt.

This was all his fault.

Merlin was dying, or dead, because of him.

The servant had led his master to the Cauldron and the sorceress that saved his wife. He had been by Arthur's side every step of the way in this journey. He had even been captured as leverage. And then – he had been forgotten.

Arthur had been so overcome with joy after being reunited with his queen. He had briefly imagined that he was going to lose her, again, and that thought had plagued him. To have it eradicated from his heart and mind to have Guinevere restored and returned to him, flooded him with elation and love. It clouded his head and everything else save for her face faded from his thoughts.

He couldn't be blamed for being happy that his wife was safe and once again her beautiful and kind self. But he could be blamed for just about everything else.

If he had remembered Merlin. If he had gotten to him sooner. If he had fought harder.

Arthur was drowning in "if"s.

Bending down to examine a broken branch, Arthur surveyed his surroundings as he took in greedy gasping breaths. Marks in the mud betrayed signs of some sort of wagon. Footprints also peppered the ground. These men were on the move and in too much of a hurry to cover their tracks. Arthur was glad for the easy trail, but discontented with at the quick pace they were moving at. They were carrying a severely wounded man and several of their troop were also most likely injured. They should've been slow and easy targets. Arthur should have descended upon them by now. It was as if they were running for something, or _to _something. Arthur doubted they were running from him. They had ambushed four of them without hesitation. They wouldn't fear one man, even if he was a king. With their speed, these men were on a mission.

But what did that mission have to do with attacking them? With Merlin? Surely there was some mistake. Why kidnap a lowly servant, a dying one at that?

They were definitely no bandits. The only thing they stole was Merlin.

Little did they know, they had taken something the king valued higher than any possession or amount of money. Something one of a kind. Something priceless.

Something he would kill to get back.


End file.
